Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE
LYKOS
Weeks had slipped by, and life in the penthouse had settled into a comfortable rhythm. The children had found their sense of normal again, often seeking out conversations with Violet and me, while Violet herself had begun to rebuild a fragile, tentative bond with her mother.
Weekdays were harder on her. With the kids at school and my attention tied up with work, the apartment often felt too quiet. But Saturdays quickly became our favorite part of the week. Violet spent those days with Aria, while Dimitros stayed with me.
And today, we had business to attend to.
My driver-slash-bodyguard, Yiorgos, made his way through Athens, easing the Range Rover through the constant tide of scooters while heat blazed outside despite the fact that it was only April.
Horns chirped in short, impatient bursts.
A delivery truck blocked half the street ahead, forcing everyone into a single narrowing lane, and somewhere nearby music drifted from an open café door.
I watched the city slide past the tinted window in fragments: laundry hanging from narrow balconies, old women talking across apartment windows, graffiti layered over crumbling marble walls.
Every few minutes the Acropolis appeared between buildings, sunlit stone hovering above the crowded streets, before vanishing again behind concrete and telephone wires.
Yiorgos muttered something under his breath in Greek and tapped the steering wheel as we lurched forward another few feet.
I barely noticed.
My mind kept circling back to Violet’s father and the pieces of information I’d gathered over the last forty-eight hours.
Dick Freud certainly lived up to his name. He was a dick, a fucking coward and a gold-digger. Yes, a fucking gold-digger who took his wife’s name when they got married and lived off her money. Until his wife’s father left it all to Violet.
Only that wasn’t the worst part.
Dick Freud was a member of the Obsidian Society that used their power, money, and influence to get richer, and even worse, they took advantage of vulnerable people. He fucking hunted them for sport.
Men like Dick Freud were supposed to be easy to define. Wealthy. Connected. Dangerous, maybe. But understandable. You learned what they valued, figured out what they feared, and eventually the shape of them became clear.
But while with Dick Freud and his values became clear, this Obsidian Society remained an enigma.
“Dad… are you okay?”
The question pulled me out of the storm in my head. I turned, meeting my son’s gaze. His eyes were so much like mine that for a fleeting second, it felt like looking back in time.
Then my attention caught on his cheek.
Amara’s instability had never been his fault.
Still, I was grateful—selfishly, perhaps—that he hadn’t inherited more of her.
The cut on his cheek was the only thing of Amara’s that would be with him for the remainder of his life, but he was a lot stronger than his mother, and Violet would ensure he never ventured into madness.
Violet.
A faint exhale left me as I thought of her. She had a way of weaving people together without force. Aria adored her. Even my son—who did not trust easily—had opened up in ways I hadn’t thought possible.
Yesterday, the three of them had gone to the movies while I handled business and shipment issues. I surprised them outside the theater and took them all out to dinner. Simple things I never had a partner to share with and now, with Violet, I had it all.
“Dad?” Dimitros called again.
I looked back at him.
“Yes,” I said finally, my voice steady again. “I’m fine. But I need you to do something for me.”
He straightened. “Anything.”
“Don’t mention to Violet that her father is here.”
“Of course.” There was no hesitation, just loyalty.
A sense of pride settled in my chest. One day, he would lead this family. And when that day came, I knew he wouldn’t just command fear. He’d command respect.
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
The warehouse came into view soon after. From the outside, it looked like any other building. Inside… it was something else entirely.
This was where truths were extracted and enemies broken.
And Violet’s father?
He was no exception.
The car rolled to a stop. My son and I stepped out.
As we entered the warehouse, the familiar scent of metal and oil wrapped around us like an old friend.
Salvatore approached, wiping his hands on a cloth, his expression already irritated.
“This guy’s a real piece of work,” he muttered. “Hasn’t said a word.”
A slow, crooked smile spread across my face. “He will.”
I walked across the concrete floor, each step echoing in the vast, hollow space. Then I saw him.
Violet’s father was bound, lying on his side. His mouth was taped shut, wrists and ankles tied tight enough to cut off his circulation.
The moment his eyes found mine, they widened in confusion. He didn’t know me, but very soon he would.
I crouched in front of him, close enough that he couldn’t look anywhere else.
“Welcome,” I said, “to my little slice of paradise.”
His breathing quickened, chest rising and falling in sharp, panicked bursts.
“This,” I continued, tilting my head slightly, “is the place where nightmares come true.”
Muffled sounds escaped beneath the tape.
“You don’t know why you’re here?” I asked, my tone almost curious.
His answer was a desperate shake of his head.
“You threatened Violet.” His body went rigid. “And you threatened my daughter. Violet’s and my daughter.”
Behind me, I heard Dimitros inhale sharply. “He threatened them?”
I didn’t turn around.
Because right now, there was only one thing that mattered, and it was teaching a lesson about what happened when you threatened those I loved.